


Nicer

by wanderingsmith



Category: Bones
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-02
Updated: 2006-05-02
Packaged: 2017-10-08 04:46:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderingsmith/pseuds/wanderingsmith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She did need to be nicer, ep addy to 1x18: man in the morgue</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nicer

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I ain't got no money, and nobody'd be daft enough to pay me for this.
> 
> AN: this was the BEST ep!!!!! ok, enough squeeing here. this started out being a 6 line ep addy. but Katie convinced me (it wasn't hard, lol) to go for more

'What a week.'  Seeley sprawled on his couch, forearm covering his eyes.  Mind buzzing as he slowly got himself to relax. 

The panic that had gripped onto him when she called asking him in that slow, confused voice what she was supposed to do next.  He wondered how many more times they could go through this dance of Temperance being in danger before he lost it and simply took over a situation.  He knew she'd fly off the handle if he did, but letting her put herself in real danger was a hell of a strain on his 'alpha male' reflexes.

Even now he wanted to hop on a plane and go beat the living shit right out of that voodoo bastard.  His fist clenched tight as he remembered seeing her hurt and uncertain, remembered Leger's body and the realization that that could have been *his* Bones.

Maybe he could find an official reason to get a hold of Kenton privately...  His stress-relieving violent daydream was interrupted by the knock at the door.

He blinked when he opened the door to see Bones on his doorstep, odd smile hovering on her lips.

"You withheld evidence from a murder investigation?"

He rolled his eyes, frustration still snapping at him and replied forcefully "Are you here to lecture me?"

She playfully widened her eyes, catching his attention with an expression *he* usually used, "No.  I'm *here* to be nice to you"

Ignoring his blinking eyes and open mouth, she stepped up, gripped his collar with her good hand and kissed him, taking advantage of his shock to push-step him backwards into the house, right forearm pushing on his chest.  She hadn't planed to jump on him, but seeing him open the door dishevelled and disgruntled, the last of her defences crumbled.  He had to know a relationship with her wouldn't be easy, and yet he was still indicating interest.  And she was tired of denying the attraction.  Her last sane thought was to kick the door shut as she crashed them both onto the hallway wall. 

The buzzing had turned to a roar, *almost* drowned out by the opened floodgate of desire coursing through his already hot blood.  As his body hit the wall and hers followed onto him, shock evaporated and his arms wrapped around her, pulling them into intimate contact.

He could taste the coppery blood still clinging to her split lip, feeding the buried fury he still felt at her danger.  He slipped a hand into her hair, tilting her head to deepen the kiss, faintly conscious that she was letting him take over.  Not arguing for dominance.  The tongue that had been insistent for exploration when she'd attacked him now yielded to his, teasing without impeding; lips matching his.  She tasted of coffee and blood; and desire.  It wasn't until his racing heart made him need more air than he could get through his nose and he broke the kiss that his thoughts cleared. 

He could feel her hands combing through his hair.  Her eyes opened slowly, heavy-lidded, as they both panted for breath, glittering gazes holding.  He wanted to keep going, cover the inch of space between their lips and keep tasting and touching until neither of them had any self-control left; surrender them both to furious passion. 

But he was thinking clearly enough to know that he wasn't willing to risk this woman's presence for one night of pleasure.  He loved her.  Had for long enough to come to grips with what he could gain from a relationship with her; and what he would lose of himself if he lost her, or her friendship.  Needed her not only as his partner to do his job, but in his life, in any capacity.  He'd been willing to risk that to keep her alive;  he wasn't to make love to her.  He really wasn't.  Really.

He wished he believed she felt the same for him, wanted this to be more than gratitude and physical desire.  There had been a few times lately when he thought he'd seen flashes of deeper feelings from her, or even just their possibility.  But not enough to bet on.  Not on these stakes.

Hating that he had to do this, he took a deep breath and made himself pull back.  Trying to think of something that would get them back to stable footings without closing any doors.

&lt;&gt;

The understanding that had crystallized as she stared at her mother's earing had filled her with a maelstrom of feelings.  Love, for his willingness to trust her above everything, even the rules he held dear, for his ability to see through her independent façade, for the intrinsic kindness he showed her.  Fear, for the risk he took with his career, betting on his knowledge of her when even she wasn't sure.  Anguish, that she would disappoint him, be too different, miss an important social cue; hurt him.  And happiness, that he cared, that he thought she was worth the annoyance she knew she caused him.  Too many emotions to analyze logically.

Yes, objects could have power.  She would always see him when she looked at or touched that earing.  Would again feel protected as she did when he hovered, almost physically wrapped around her.  Feel cherished, as she did sometimes when he looked at her, tender eyes and indulgent smile;  though she'd tried to tell herself she was imagining things. 

Through the fear trying to claw into her, Temperance couldn't get the happy grin on his face out of her mind;  'you should be nicer to me'. 

She still wasn't sure what had possessed her to call him.  She'd been so out of it, scared deep down at the incomprehensible situation she found herself in.  She could have thought her way to the fact that she needed to call the police and get to a doctor.  But the only course she'd found herself following was dialling his cell; the sound of his voice immediately calming her breathing and clearing the fear from her thoughts. 

Once she could think again, she'd tried to tell him she was fine and would take care of herself; her independence reawakened, sorry to have worried him.  And she had worried him;  his voice on the phone had been abrupt, speech faster and an octave higher than usual, clear Booth signs of agitation.  When she'd told him to stay in DC, she hadn't really managed to convince herself that he would, nor that she wanted him to.  His presence at the clinic, his voice breaking...  She really should be nicer to him. 

And she did miss his arms around her.  She'd managed well enough when it was just the dream of them she had to fight; the actual memory had a lot more power.  And with the worry, however she'd denied it, that had plagued her from the moment she woke on Thursday, there was a traitorously weak voice at the back of her mind clamouring for remembered comfort and warmth; safety.  Voice strong enough to dial a phone, obviously. 

Though she still didn't remember the details from Tuesday night, she was aware that she'd been lucky to survive.  And the need to celebrate life was still there at the back of her mind.  To reinforce their survival, the fact that they were together.  And his ribs and shoulder weren't in pieces this time.  She frowned at her wrist as she hurried through the halls of the Jeffersonian, taped up it actually wasn't  too painful.  But it was inconvenient.

She managed to drive to Booth's apartment, still not quite sure what she was going to do, just needing to be near him, preferably alone.  To let him know she was grateful maybe.  Though she could imagine his annoyance if she actually tried to thank him with words.

&lt;&gt;

She was still feeling the giddy pleasure from his kiss, from knowing he wanted her as much as she did him.  Was enjoying looking at him, really allowing herself to stare as she never had before, knowing he or Angela would make a fuss about it.  Which was why she noticed when he pulled back mentally.  Could see him throw up shields, force himself calm again. 

There was a brief war within her; uncertainty trying to insist that she had pushed him to something he didn't want, confidence reminding her of the earing she carried in her pocket, of the fear he showed for her safety, and the affection she was starting to recognize in his everyday behaviour.

Confidence won, and she decided he was trying to 'be a gentleman'.  So when he tried to pull away physically, she held on, kept his head in place with her hands and followed his retreating body with hers.  Meeting his frown with a glare.  "If I didn't want this Booth, you would be on the ground, your gun in my pocket and wearing your own handcuffs."

Seeley blinked, her bluntly put reassurance melting away the fear that they were letting recent events move them too fast, the way she'd read his mind making his heart lift, giving him a dose of hope for a mutual future.  He started to grin, not bothering to answer her as he stopped his retreat, and instead brought her lips back to his, hands moving to get rid of her coat. 

She was proud of herself when she saw his eyes clear of worry and return to passionate.  She'd not only read him correctly, but had gotten her message across without misunderstanding.  Maybe he had taught her some things.  Or maybe he was the one person who could understand her sometimes odd language.

  
"So you're going to start clamouring for my handcuffs as well as my gun now?"  His lips had only pulled back enough to talk.

She smirked teasingly, "Only in private, Booth.  When it's just you... and me."  Her good hand cupped his jaw and pulled him back to her, kissing him again, challenging him for lead.  Hands continuing to smooth through his too-short hair, the warmth from his big body seeping through their clothe, filling that denied need for comfort.  And waking other needs that had been denied even longer.

His hands glided down her back, moulding her to him as he deepened the kiss, sending up a last prayer that this was a beginning and not the end.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm stooping this here for now; sorry Kate! I really really tried to peek into the rest of he scene... but the curtains were steel!! lol Who knows, maybe one day soon I'll find a better blowtorch and can write either a sequel or delayed ch2...


End file.
